Like this:

In the face of the war…
There are no sore losers…
Nor are there great winners
Not the one whose body hangs highest in the pile…
Lord in his life…
A mere body in death

There are no winners…
In the face of war…
Not the one left desolate at 10
To the echoes of dust and death
He must now learn to live
A child at the start of war
Soon he will be a casualty or the war’s lord

Yellow flowers know the same fate
Blood dripping red in their roots
Trampled fast before a chance at nature’s law…

Generations to come will no doubt hear of the scars
Tales of war on the faces of their history…

Blood is said to be thicker than water
But not in this instant
NO
Not in this moment of dark shadows
In this moment each fallen tear marks stains
Stains deeper than blood from crimson red fingers pen stabbed sore
Words however small would not come
Thoughts however hazy will not form
Family and blood ties offer no motivation
Words would not come
A most unusual muse offers no comfort…
Vodka and tonic are like water in the shadow of two nights
Fingers shake and cry blood
Shot glasses stack high in cigarette butt
Eyes red with unshed tears as the first cock crows
Clarity unfound in the last drop…

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